


Eight.

by scoodlespog



Series: block men bring me Dopamine lmao [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Because im sad, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Feral TommyInnit (Video Blogging RFP), Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Romantic Fluff, So much angst, Technoblade & Phil Watson Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade Has ADHD (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Has ADHD (Video Blogging RPF), Trans Male Character, Trans Male Floris | Fundy, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot Has Daddy Issues, Wilbur Soot Has a Bad Time, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot-centric, and none of them get one :), becauise hes Not Ok, because fuck you <3, because suffering is funny :)), but its for the plot :(((, but she isnt a salmonon, dadzapog?, ew straight people, for legal resonas that is a joke, hes doing his best, i type words so good, i wanted uh, im sorry :(, its just wilburs warped precetoption of the world, lowkey neglecftful dadza?, lowkey?, no im not, sally the salmon is also there, the family lore is fake, uh oh, wilbur and techno Are Not twins, wilbur and tommy Are Not siblings, wilbur im sorry lmao, wilbur is an ok parent, wow that was a word i just typed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29500683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoodlespog/pseuds/scoodlespog
Summary: “you look so old,” he said longingly. “i wish...”i wish you were a kid again.“yeah,” wilbur said, looking down at his hands. “me too,”-*-*-or: mr. wilbur soot mentioned that he plays alivebur to the song Eight by Sleeping At Last, so i used that as inspiration and put too much time into a fanfiction for a minecraft roleplayor: lol wilbur is bad at feelings what a loser *hold head in hands*(lowercase intetional because Of Fucking Course It Is that's just what i do babyyy)rated teen because uhh sweraring and uhhhh violence and uhhh issues??lowkey slow updates? idk, i'm very slowthe writing isn't great, i'll admit it. i'm not a wirter. i saw this in every fic i've posted, and i will keep saying it. i'm a hyperactive doodler (or artist idk you decide what to call it) who just so happens to enjoy writing.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Niki | Nihachu & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot/Sally the Salmon, background tubbo and tommy lmao, im sorrY - Relationship
Series: block men bring me Dopamine lmao [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167245
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53





	Eight.

**Author's Note:**

> hi! it's me, back at it again with another fanfiction about white men who play minecraft for a living because i care they very much!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *camarvan has been added to your party*  
> wilbur: great, that solves all my daddy issues!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> domestic phil and wilbur are very personal to me

the fireplace crackled, a warmth seeping into a young boys skin. he was used to the warmth, to the love. and he reveled in it, letting it soak through his bones and veins, landing in the centre of his chest and bloom outwards through his fingertips. he would sometimes sit and sip a cup of cocoa or apple cider, but he didn’t trust himself with the boiling water so he would get his father to do it. tonight he was there with only a guitar and a glass of cranberry juice to keep him company. he plucked random chords, adjusting his fingers until the notes sounded right. 

he heard the door crack open, and two voices laughing. he knew those two voices. of course he did, he’s known them his whole life. one from every day, the other from at least a couple times a month. 

“wilbur!” his father said from the door. “guess who’s here!”

wilbur smiled, gently tossing his guitar onto the couch and running to the door. he threw himself at his dad, wrapping his arms around his neck. “dad! i finally finished the song i wrote, and i did all the notes perfectly!”

his father ruffled his hair. “did you now? you’ll have to show me later, bud,”

“oh, so you’re just goin’ to ignore me?” techno said, a smile in his voice. 

“techno!” wilbur exclaimed. he leaned over, swiping techno’s crown and putting it on his own head. “good to see you, pig boy,”

“hey, give that back,” techno said, taking back his crown and flicking wilbur lightly in the forehead. “god, you’ve gotten tall. are you taller than phil yet?”

“almost,”

“ok, that’s not at all true,” phil said, laughing. he strode through the house, tossing his hat and cloak over a stray chair. “i’m still taller,”

“not for long, old man,” techno said. he took off his boar skull mask, placing it gently on the countertop. his eyes were blood red, and he looked so much older than fifteen. “will’s probably gonna be, like, six three when he turns thirteen,” techno’s eyes went wide suddenly. “holy shit, you’re turning thirteen in a year,”

wilbur smiled proudly. “yep! i’m almost as old as you!” he said. 

techno rolled his eyes. “i’m always going to be older, dude. i’m turning sixteen in two months, don’t forget,”

“girls, girls, you’re both pretty,” phil joked. “techno, can you start some tea?”

“ok, old man,” techno stood up, tossing his bubblegum pink hair over his shoulder. “will, you want anythin?”

“nah, i have the juice,” wilbur said, sitting back on the floor and raising his glass of cranberry juice. 

“you have the juice?”

“i have the fucking juice, technoblade,”

phil laughed, leaning back on his rocking chair. “what did you get up to while i was out?” he asked wilbur, crossing his fingers together. “anything illegal?”

wilbur picked up his guitar from the couch, plucking a few chords. “not much. just practicing,” he slid up and down the frets, making a simple melody. “did i tell you that i did my song perfectly?”

“you mentioned that, yes,” phil smiled warmly, looking into the fireplace. “i see you managed not to burn the house down,”

“are you proud of me?”

“sure,” 

techno came back from the kitchen, two mugs of tea in his hands. he passed one to phil and sat carefully on the couch, his posture pristine. “are you gonna force us to hear your song, wilbur?”

wilbur grinned, his eyes sparkling. “yes. yes i am,” he cleared his throat, strumming the first few opening chords. when he started to sing, he almost forgot he was being watched. the words came easy, after weeks of writing and rewriting the lyrics they were implanted in his brain, flowing from his mouth. the melody was simple and melancholic, describing things no one else could see or hear or feel. when he finished, he groaned loudly. “i fucked up the chorus again, dammit,”

phil smiled. “don’t worry, i don’t think either of us noticed,”

“you wrote that by yourself?” techno asked. when wilbur nodded he leaned back, whistling. “you’re a talented kid,”

“we’re pretty much the same age,” wilbur pointed out. “you’re only, what? three or four years older than me?” he plucked out a few more notes, trying to get the chorus right again. “and i’m not talented. it’s just... i dunno. anyone can play guitar,”

“but not everyone can write songs,” phil finished. “wilbur, you better write me songs when i’m old and retired,”

wilbur laughed. “you’re already old, just not retired,”

“you’re a right shit, you know that?”

“i’m aware,”

“good. i raised you well,”

they sat in comfortable silence for a while, phil and techno drinking their coffee and making small talk while wilbur played some random chords and notes, just letting his autopilot take over his hands. he let the crackling of the fire and the hushed voices behind him fade away into notes and chords, a symphony of simple notes, smoothing the creases in his thoughts and peeling away any awkwardness he might have been feeling. 

he liked to equate the world to music. it made things easier, to think of things as notes and lyrics and not random bad events. his mother’s death was a stoop in the notes, the transfer from bright and hurried to hushed and tearful. he also liked to make up small songs to relate to those around him. techno’s theme was slow and lazy, with strong low notes and a sweeping violin. phil’s was calm, with high piano trills under every note. his theme was slow, and the tune was melancholic, with hopeful guitar underneath it all. his friend niki’s was high pitched and slow, like a ballroom dance, a flute taking the higher notes and a cello taking the lower. of course, he didn’t play any instruments except the guitar and piano, so none of their music would ever be out in the open. but at least he could hear it. 

“wilbur,” his father’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “have i told you about the time i accidentally summoned a raid?”

wilbur put down his guitar and quickly turned to face his father, his eyes sparkling with interest. “no, you haven’t, and now you gotta tell us,”

“spill the tea, if you will,” techno added sarcastically, making phil choke on his tea. “damn, phil, didn’t know today would be the day you die,”

phil laughed loudly, placing his mug on the coffee table beside wilbur and pushing himself to his feet. “ok, shut up,” he said jokingly. “so, there i was, having just killed a pillager,” he dove into the story, spreading his hands out in front of him, his wings following suit. “and as the little shits dying, he pulls out a horn and sounds an alarm. and i think, ‘oh, no ones gonna hear it, i'm very far away from any civilians and, by extension, outposts’”

wilbur leaned forward as phil spoke, listening with every ounce of his attention. 

“and when i was sitting in my living room with my cat, i hear these footsteps,” phil continued. he made some exaggerated stomps in place, earning a bright laugh from wilbur and a huffed chuckle from techno. “when i look outside, i see ravagers, some with riders, and i see vindicators and pillagers, and those wizard pricks,”

wilbur gasped dramatically, holding the back of his hand to his forehead. “oh, whatever will you do?” he said.

phil laughed then cleared his throat. “so i grab my armour and axe-”

“battle axe. nice,” techno interjected. 

“-and i go out there,” phil shot techno a look. “i take down almost every last ravager - techno don't look at me like that,”

“but they’re so cool!”

“but i take them all down, but then there’s more. they’re coming at me, left and right, and my arms are going numb. some guy comes up behind me, and stabs me right in the side,” phil pointed to his side just below his ribcage. “but i chop that guy’s head clean off. there’s blood all over my lawn, and i see my cats in the window. i go to go back inside, when i’m attacked by those little vex fuckers that you’re so fond of, wilbur,”

wilbur shrugged. “i just like ghosts,” he explained half heartedly. 

phil rolled his eyes, then sat back down, picking up his tea again. “long story short, i kicked their arses, and my cat was fine,”

wilbur applauded, somewhat sarcastically. “brava, mr. minecraft!”

phil laughed. 

“you could make a movie out of your life, phil,” techno said, taking a sip of his own tea. “philza minecraft; the man with wings and shit,”

"oh, come one. it has to be something better than that," phil complained halfheartedly. he took at sip of his tea.

“the angel of death,” wilbur suggested. 

phil hummed thoughtfully, raising his eyebrows. “i actually quite like that,” he said. “philza minecraft, angel of death. sounds badass,”

“well, you’re welcome for the idea,” wilbur said. he took a large swig of his cranberry juice, and picked up his guitar again. “can’t wait to be able to say i’m the son of the angel of death,”

“can’t wait to be able to say i was taught by the angel of death,” techno added. 

“can’t wait to be able to say i’m the angel of death,” phil finished. “and that my son is a famous musician,”

“wilbur minecraft-soot, son of the angel of death, best musician in the world,” wilbur said. he nodded to himself. “nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“sure,” phil shrugged. “maybe you’ll think of something better when you’re older, though,”

“you could just say you hate it,”

“i dont hate it,” phil said. “i just know you’ll think of something even better when you’re older,”

“how do you know?”

“because you’re my son, and you’re your mother’s son. and you’re always trying to outdo yourself,”

“i don’t do that,”

“sure you don’t, will,” phil look back to the fore, the flames reflecting in his eyes. the same as wilbur’s eyes, big and round and walled off. “sure you don’t,”

techno snored suddenly. his head was propped up on his hand, and his breaths cane out evenly and deeply. his ears were flattened against his head lazily, rising and falling in time with his breathing. 

“ah,” phil whispered. “poor kid must be exhausted. and it’s getting late. go up to bed, wilbur,” he stood up and took all of their mugs and glasses, placing them gently in the sink. “i’ll be up to say goodnight soon, ok?”

wilbur nodded and made his way down the hall to his room. with the dark blue walls and maps on every wall it looked more like an office than a bedroom, but with the clothes littered on the floor and the bed pushed in the corner it was fairly obvious that that wasn’t the case. he threw himself on his bed, landing uncomfortably on the plastic eye of his stuffed shark. he pulled it out from under himself, and hugged it close to his chest. 

“hey, will,” phil said from the doorway. “i think you know what i’m gonna say,”

wilbur groaned. “i’m not cleaning my room,”

“it’s a disaster, will,”

“and?”

“god, how do you live like this?”

wilbur shrugged, pulling his blankets over his head so he was wearing a sort of blanket cloak. “dad. i’m the worm king,” he said. 

phil laughed, sitting on the edge of the bed and tucking a stray lock of curly brown hair behind wilbur’s ear. “you certainly are, your majesty,” he said in a mocking posh voice. “but sire, it seems the time has come for you to sleep!”

wilbur giggled as his father poked his nose gently. “dad, i’m not a little kid, don’t do that,”

“you’re always going to be a little kid to me,”

“i’m almost techno’s age!”

“you’ll always be my stupid little boy, little boy,” phil pinched wilbur’s cheek. “no matter how old you are,”

wilbur groaned dramatically. “no, i don’t wanna be a little boy!” he complained sarcastically. 

phil scoffed fondly and kissed wilbur’s forehead, earning a small smile from the boy. “off to bed, ok? you have a sparring lesson with techno tomorrow, and we have to go shopping for christmas,” said phil. he stood up, his bones cracking. 

wilbur burrowed into his blankets, curling into a comfortable ball. “christmas for who?”

“you and techno,” said phil, testing a hand on the doorframe. “who else?”

“oh,” wilbur said. it seemed obvious now that he knew. who else would even need presents? “ok,”

“goodnight, wilbur,” phil said. he seemed suddenly sad, though wilbur didn’t know why. had he done something wrong? phil closed the door softly, leaving wilbur’s room in darkness and stifling silence. 

wilbur closed his eyes, watching the swirling patterns of untraceable colours dance on the back of his eyelids, letting hem lull him into a floatin feeling, like he was almost asleep but not quite there yet. he let his mind wander, until his thoughts stilled, and he was sucked into a dreamless sleep.

-*-*- 

phil sighed the forms with a flourish before turning to wilbur and placing a steady hand on his shoulder. “well, that’s the last one. today’s my last day here, and tomorrow i’ll be shipped off to the mystery island,”

wilbur pouted. “do you have to go? it’s dreadfully boring when you’re not here,” he said. “besides, what’s the point? you’ve already done the hardcore challenge, why do it again?”

“because back then your mother was alive, will,” phil said simply. “and i always wanted to do it again, but i couldn’t because you were a kid. and now you’re not twelve, and you can take of yourself now,”

wilbur groaned, rolling his head in a circle, cracking his neck when he tilted it backwards. “dad, come on, please don’t go,”

“i can’t just retract the papers, will,” phil snapped. “i’m more than just your dad, ok? i have goals and dreams and aspirations. and i know you’re mad about that, but you can handle being on your own for a while,”

wilbur looked down. in all reality, he was scared of being alone. he’d always had his father and techno there with him, sticking by his side no matter what, always a shout away. but techno had gone way up north, and they hadn’t heard from him in a long time. and phil was now being shipped off to another hardcore challenge on the mystery islands, their locations undisclosed and untraceable. phil had allegedly done it before, way before wilbur was born. he lasted for almost four years, until he was infamously killed by a stray baby zombie. and now he was going again for who knows how long, and wilbur would be alone. with nobody. 

“oh, don’t look at me like that,” phil said. “you’ve always told me how you wanted to be more independent,”

“i know, but still,”

phil fixed him with a Look. “will, i know you’re upset, and i’m sorry about that. but this is something i want to do, and now i’m finally able to, so i’m going to,” he explained, insincerity laced under his voice, almost undetectable. “and while i’m gone you can write me some more music. you can take the camarvan, if you want it,” phil pulled out the keys, holding it out to his son as a sort of peace offering.

wilbur grunted and took the keys to van out of phil's hand response, striding out to the big white van. he’d always loved the van. he loved how the inside was like a home anywhere he went. he ran his hand on the metal surface, cool to the touch and smooth on his skin. he cracked the door open, being met the usual scent of body door and mud. not particularly pleasant, but he didn’t mind. 

“you want the van?” phil asked from behind him. 

wilbur swallowed down the ‘fuck you’ that had been bubbling in his throat for the past day. “...yeah,” he replied. “i do,”

phil nodded curtly. his wings were down at his sides, the tips crossing behind him to mimic his arms crossed in front of him. he seemed so far away. “you can have it. poor thing hasn’t been driven in years,”

wilbur nodded in agreement. 

phil opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it quickly. he looked down, the feathers on the edges of his wings twitching. “...it’s getting late,” is what he said, presumably to replace the words he was about to say mere moments ago. “you should head off to bed,”

“and you’ll be gone in the morning,” wilbur said. it wasn’t a question. 

phil hummed the affirmative, looking up at the boy in front of him. he smiled sadly. “you look so old,” he said longingly. “i wish...” _i wish you were a kid again._

“yeah,” wilbur said, looking down at his hands. “me too,”

phil nodded, and the conversation ended. he went back inside, leaving wilbur alone in the van, in complete silence. 

he stood there in the middle of the tight space in between the couch and the (ever so slightly pathetic) kitchen, his head almost touch the ceiling and his feet planted firmly on the rough carpeting, which was fraying and dirty and reminded him of home. 

he remembered the way phil would open the window and let wilbur stick his hand out to trace the wind, and he would imagine that that’s what it felt like to be able to fly. he remembered phil complaining about his wings getting cramped, and letting wilbur drive while he flew behind the car. looking back, that was not a good thing, but it still tasted bittersweet and pleasant, so wilbur didn’t bother dwelling on it. this van was one of late night drives and blasting music, guitar practice while his father hummed along off key, hot cocoa getting knocked over by holes in the road, phil’s hair getting long until he was able to tie it behind his head, wilbur being able to braid his father’s hair even though he didn’t know how. 

wilbur’s heart ached. he decided it was best to go back inside. he could reminisce when his father left for his stupid challenge. his stupid father leaving him with a stupid van full of memories left untouched. 

he stared at his ceiling for a while when his door cracked open, and his father sat down on the edge of his bed. 

“i’m guessing you’re awake?” phil asked. 

wilbur hummed, which was answer enough. 

phil nodded. “listen, i...” he started. he shook his head, his wings twitching at the same time. “i know you’re upset with me. i don’t know how to fix that. but i promise you i’ll see you as soon as i die. ok?”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“i don’t know,” phil admitted. he ran a hand through his hair. when it was down, it reached his shoulders and puffed out at the bottom like feathers. it got thinner and frayed at the tips, just like wilbur’s did. “what would make you feel better?” he asked carefully. 

wilbur shrugged. he didn’t have the energy to speak right now. 

“ok,” phil said. he reached a hand out placing it on wilbur’s shoulder. he rubbed his thumb in a circular motion, earning a slight hum from his son. “do you want me to stay here until you fall asleep?”

wilbur nodded hesitantly. he felt like a child in need of his dad, on the verge of tears. he felt phil shift his weight so he was more comfortable. wilbur sat up, looking down at his sheets. “can i have a hug?” he whispered pathetically. 

phil simply opened his arms as an answer. 

wilbur clutched tightly to phil’s shirt, and almost let tears slip from the corners of his eyes. but he settled to just let out a breath and let himself be held. 

maybe for the last time.

when he woke up in the morning, phil was gone without a trace, his bedroom door shut and his armour and tools gone. wilbur sat on the couch, sitting in the silence. he reached for his guitar on the floor, and when he grabbed it he noticed something hidden behind it. two things. 

phil’s old diamond boots. scratches littered their once pristine surface, especially around the toes and heels. their blue colour was just as vibrant as it was when wilbur was just a kid parading around in the too big boots, pretending to be just like phil. 

phil left the boots behind for him. he didn’t leave a note, but wilbur got the message. 

_in case i don’t come back._

and wilbur didn’t cry about it. 

he picked up the boots and his guitar, grabbing the keys to the van. when he took his place at the steering wheel of his van, he looked back at his old house. the rickety building with the red roof and yellow door that techno hated when they were kids, the lawn, unkempt and overgrown, vines climbing their way up to the windows. he started the ignition and pulled out of the driveway. 

he didn’t look back again. 

_dear phil,_

_god, that’s strange to write. i hope your challenge is good so far. thank you for the boots. they still don’t fit, though. your feet are smaller than mine now, but it’s ok. i’ll still keep them._

_i’m writing this in a gas station, and some lady is looking at me weird, but it’s ok._

_i miss you already. i know it’s only been, like, a day, but still. i hope you’re safe. i’ll probably write more. it feels fancy to write out a letter and actually mail it. might get a wax seal kit, just because i can. that would class up my letters, wouldn’t it? or it would be a waste of money. only one way to find out, i guess!_

_is it cold on your island? i’m guessing it’s up north? i don’t know. you didn’t give me many details. it must be lonely, since you have to do it alone. at least i think you do. i know nothing about hardcore, if i’m being honest.  
i’m driving somewhere, but i don’t know where yet. i’ll tell you when i get there, i guess. _

_or i won’t. i don’t know. we’ll see.  
that’s all from me for now. i really hope you get this all the way out on your island. _

_love you!_

_miss you  
\- wilbur_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so it begins ahaha
> 
> spoiler: i am in love with writing sally and wilbur and im very excited to post the next chapter

**Author's Note:**

> ahah ur so sexy drink some water ahaha O3U


End file.
